


Sterling Adoration

by the_authors_exploits



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Happy, Hurt/Comfort, I promise you there's a happy ending, M/M, NOT BITTERSWEET, Romance, abusive parental figure, it says major character death but I swear the story is happy ok?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8766346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: Aino loved once, and it was taken from her. There's a poison sweeping the land, and Aino won't let it take what she loves again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: [ageeksnerdyworld](http://ageeksnerdyworld.tumblr.com/) (or [themonologuer](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCK2XpeDe2X0NIVXWdd9o93A) on YouTube) did [a reading of this story](https://youtu.be/MTL-pkXqFlw) and Im in awe!

She comes from the west, over the sand dunes, from the desert; she comes cloaked in white, a strange sigil etched into the fabric, clutching a twisted staff in her tanned hand. Her hood is pulled high, flowing low over her face, and the wind through the town is a welcome respite from the suffocating heat from her journeys; her staff, a gnarled piece of metal, twists upwards in slender lolls to clutch a massive pearl.

The village folk give her a wide berth, though if that is due to her auspicious look or the demon perched on her arm she doesn’t care.

The demon is just that, complete with horns and a pointed tail, and their eyes are squinted and fully black; they perch on all fours, small upon her arm but heavy weighted for their power, and her arm holds steady as she nearly glides through the dirt paths. The demon’s head, round with spiked fur, turns as if an owl’s to eye every passerby with a suspicious glance; their hands, little three clawed things, grip delicately and occasionally release her arm to stretch out, pug nose sniffling at the air.

The woman takes measured steps through the streets, lifts her eyes from beneath her hood, thick winged eyeliner accentuating her bright green eyes; she spots an open air diner to the left and heads for it, the demon scuttling up her arm and disappearing in thick tendrils of black smoke into the darkness of her hood. The patrons at the diner huddle over their meals and drinks, dark whispers of _summoner_ passing over their lips; fearful, reverent, as if she’s a deity with so much power to destroy them where they sit.

She lowers her hood, shakes her hair out—soft black, choppily cut in a sideways style, one strand braided with wooden beads; she heaves a breath, happy to be out of the sun and solitude. She goes to the bar, slides into a seat, smiles at the tender.

“A mug of cool goat’s milk, please; a bowl of your cold duck soup.”

The man grunts, goes to fetch her items, and her hand goes to her belt where she unties a coin purse; she picks out her chosen payment, hands it over, and eats in silence. The food is good, better than her pre-prepared dried packs of food, little bits of bread and oatmeal that expands with water or her own saliva, and she savors the fresh meal set before her; she doesn’t summon Aino, but the warrior materializes at her side.

Bright white feathers swirl upwards, more and more presenting themselves, forming into thick armor; the slightest bit of heels on a set of armored boots, a silvery white metal that all the armor is made of, up to her leg armor. Etched within the metal is delicate swirls, multiple designs meeting into a twist of a maze; her body armor too is thick and clunky, strong and protective, and her arms—that which is shown beneath her armor—are muscled.

The last part of her to form is her face and hair, lengthy white strands that fall easily against her back from where they are tied high on her head; her eyes, lashes darkened with mascara, blink down at her summoner and her lips pull into a fond smirk, even as her arms relax from their crossed position.

All considered, her summoning lasts only a few short moments; she steps closer to her summoner, leaning against the counter and into the other girl’s space. The patrons may not know much about summoning, but they can still tell a Legendary Summons and they avert their gaze from Aino, quiet their whispers.

“Is’at duck soup?” she teases.

Elia runs her spoon through the liquid. “It is; why have you shown, Aino?” Elia does not keep her summons under lock and key, chained within a book or summoning card, but still she’s learned their patterns and Aino is not one to show if not for battle or a private conversation; here, in public, among suspicious patrons in the middle of a busy diner, Aino should not have shown. But here she was, leaning into Elia’s space to sniff at the bowl of soup.

“There’s a darkness here,” Aino whispers softly; her breath touches Elia’s cheek, and Elia turns to look out to the street.

Elia shivers, though there’s no wind, and decides it’s because of the oppression coming. “It’s reached this far. So soon…”

Aino hums, and then turns a toothy grin on the diner owner. “You wouldn’t happen to have any ale, would you?”

The man eases away from the counter he’d been cleaning to fetch her a glass, and she shifts, toing the ground as she leans against the counter; she eyes the street outside for the threat she senses, suffocating her.

“Is it him?”

Elia slurps her meal quickly; it’s him. He’s coming fast, she can feel his darkness approaching, and she would like to at least have a good meal before he appears. “We need to warn the villagers.”

Aino looks at her from the corner of her eye; “It’s him? It’s Draksis?”

Elia nods, then shrugs, and Aino accepts the glass of ale with a gauntleted hand when the tender hands it over; she downs it quickly.

“It feels like him…” Elia looks over her shoulder, out to the street. “We need to warn everyone.”

Before Aino can respond, remind Elia that no one will believe an unknown summoner, the skies rumble with sudden clouds; they convalesce quickly to block the bright sun, lighting flashing, and from the ground rumbles a dark shadow straight from the earth. It comes to shrieking, and the patrons react to the sudden heaviness in the air, the darkness, the monstrosity with screams and fleeing; Aino stands ready, and a giant sword forms in her hand.

Elia, too, stands battle ready; she grips her staff, eyes wide, and Aino takes a step in front of the summoner.

“Call the others!” and then Aino is going for the street, for the amorphous shadow being stalking the village folks. With a cry she swings her sword and gains the shadow’s attention; good. The innocents can escape.

Elia clasps both hands to her staff, bows her head against the metal, and closes her eyes. “Fabian, soul speaker of the west, I call thee to my aid!”

With a soft pop and distortion of the world, the young teenager shows; he too clasps a staff in his hand, and the air around him shimmers; he opens pure white eyes and it’s clear he glares at the darkness about him as his tattered cape flutters with the stormy wind. He immediately goes to help Aino when more shadows appear, summoned too by the original one.

Elia continues to summon her own companions. “Javvy, gentle demon of Therd’s domain, I call thee to my aid!”

The monkey like demon from before appears with wisps of smoke from beneath Elia’s hood, and they perch on her shoulder, eyeing the battle from afar. She has one more to summon, and she ignores the shaking of the open air tavern around her, the crashing and shrieking of shadows.

“Sahar, great scholar from another time, I call thee to my aid!” she realizes too late she should have summoned Sahar out in the streets, for he appears with crawling roots and wires, from the floor to the ceiling, and he appears hunched over for his height.

He is both machine and flora, wires twisting with bark, and his giant hands brace against the ground as he crouches; his eyes glow gold as his mechanical lids blink.

“Draksis is here!” Sahar calls over the wind, and Javvy hisses.

Elia watches Fabian dodge a shadow tentacle from the ground, and she runs through what little spells she knows; she is not mage. She is summoner. “It’s part of him.” When Fabian stumbles with a short lived cry and a shadow looms over him, when Aino is tossed aside like a gnat, Elia rushes forward. “Help Fabian!”

Sahar does; with one giant leap, he pounces upon the shadow and it disappears with the gold light that emanates from Sahar’s fingers. Fabian mutters to the air around him, and Sahar helps him up from the dusty ground; across the street, Elia comes to a skidding halt in front of Aino just in time to call out a short burst of dark lightning from her giant pearl and destroy the shadow into small particles.

“You fool!” Aino calls, striking another shadow from the side; Javvy hisses more, still clasped to her shoulder, little whispery words that just barely register to Elia. Aino grips Elia’s arm and tugs her close. “You could’ve been hurt!”

Elia blinks as Aino’s bulk blocks her from the oncoming enemies; she can sense Fabian, a sudden presence, flitter about. The boy makes a sudden noise, and Elia just barely catches a glimpse of Sahar’s bulk over Aino’s shoulder; Aino presses Elia between her armor and the wall of a house, defensive, and Javvy hisses again.

The battle wears on, but the shadows are weak so far from the Dark Land and they are easily overcome despite their numbers; when the last shadow has been dispelled, Sahar goes to Fabian and gently takes the teenager’s chin in his hand to inspect a cut on the younger’s brow. Aino turns towards Elia.

“You should’ve stayed out of the way! That was dangerous…”

Elia blinks; Javvy jumps from Elia’s shoulder to Aino, sensing their restlessness. “You could’ve been hurt; you were knocked down, and I came to help.”

Sahar clears his throat, interrupting their small spat; it happens often. Aino worries too much, and Elia is too reckless; Sahar steps closer, and Fabian’s fingers flit across his staff as he hunches his shoulder, eyeing the destruction and darkness that still hangs over this land. “We should leave.”

Yes; buildings are in rubble, villagers emerging slowly with wide eyes as they take in the changed land. Beyond the destruction, the sand has gone black and the sky a dark shade of gray; there is a constant rumble from the clouds, the earth trembles minutely, and the air hums with static energy. Draksis was here.

Some turn stony gazes on the summoner and they advance with despicable steps; they snarl, pearly white teeth shining through the darkness, and Elia steps back. She has seen this before, and it has never ended well; the blame placed upon summoners, as if they called the Dark Lord from the Dark Land to taint these people’s homes. Aino tightens her grip on her sword, twisting her body to stand in front of her summoner.

“Come,” Elia speaks quietly, reaching out to tug on a strap on Aino’s armor. “We are not here to harm them; we came to help.”

But they could not; the land has become poisoned now, the desert they had travelled through now cooling over with ice, dark clouds too hanging in the sky. Transforming into the Dark Land, just as Draksis wants.

Sahar takes Fabian’s hand, and Javvy goes from Aino to the soul speaker’s shoulders, and the giant tree-machine man leads the way through the streets, pass the accusatory eyes and the hateful spitting, the cursed words flung at them. Aino eyes each on with a cold glare, her sword still very much at the ready, shielding Elia on one side.

[O]

Aino had been summoned for centuries; her memory faded as each summoner died, or as she herself was forgot, but there were still soft snippets. One steady memory was her partner, frail but determined at her side, but even then as the years passed her partner did too; lying to herself eased the pain of loss. So Aino waited, slumbering in the Land of the Spirits, for someone to find her and pull her to the land of living once more.

She slumbered for many a year before the words were spoken, gentle things caressing her ear like a lover’s kiss; and she awoke.

Her form changed with the years, with each summon; some requested her age younger, some older, some wanted her hair long or short or shaved all together. But the fact remained she would always be tall, she would always be muscular, she would always be the legendary warrior Aino Aquilla.

This summon was a special one; she opened her eyes, forming on the floor of a darkened tower, and lifted her gaze from the etched summoning circle to address the summoner. The tower was dark, the torches battling as they flickered low and then bright again, and the air was heavy with smog and bitterness.

“There,” hissed a man’s voice, excitement leeching into it, and there was the sound of bones clanking together, a heavy chain rattling. “My child, you have summoned the warrior; now, the ceremony.”

From the shadows stepped a young girl, the same age as Aino had formed in, no more than six or seven; her steps were hesitant, unsure, and Aino tipped her head. This was to be her new master then? The girl, her hair dark and long and twisted into a bun too large for her head, held a gnarled piece of metal three times her height, and it swayed dangerously, too heavy for her small hands.

“A-Aino Aquilla, legendary warrior, guardian, defender,” her voice evened out; she had no reason to fear. The summoning circle trapped the warrior. She could not move without an order. “I call you—”

“Thee!” the hissing voice corrected harshly, and something writhed in the shadows. “Speak it right!”

“I-I call thee to my aid, and bind you to me with this paper.” Here, the child held up a summoning card and Aino felt her soul chain itself to the paper; a pinch in her chest, her heart aching. She closed her eyes, and waited for the ceremony to be finished. The summoning circle would lose its power, locked into the summoning card, and she would follow her new master’s commands. ‘Twas how her years had been spent, for mortals feared her power more than respected her, and they refused to listen to her words beyond firm compliance. “Will…Will you obey me?”

Here was her chance to speak, and she opened her eyes once more to look at her young summoner; so young, but so powerful to have called her forth from the beyond. “I will.”

“Retract her now; now, my daughter!”

The girl’s face morphed into sudden sadness, and then she was pulling the card close to her chest; she choked on her next words, as if they pained her greatly. “I dismiss thee, Aino Aquilla.”

Her being faded away into the card, and Aino knew no more.

[O]

“We should speak with the council.”

Aino chews on a piece of jerky; she still holds her sword at the ready, tensed for another attack, though they’d left the village and the Darkness behind days ago. She eyes Fabian when he yells out at the shimmering air around him; no one had been dismissed. They stand at the ready in case Draksis makes another attack. “We tried that already, Elia; they would not listen, and they will not now.”

“They must!” Elia pauses in her marching; she stamps her staff into the ground, a bit of a tantrum, but Aino understands. She is frustrated, she is frightened; Aino reaches out and grips her shoulder.

“We will try again.”

Fabian turns towards them. “Alexandria won’t come,” his voice is quiet and timid, panicked, eyes shining.

It distracts Elia from her own emotions and she makes her way to Fabian’s side; she mirrors Aino’s actions, taking Fabian’s shoulder in her hand and rubbing gently. “How far back is she?”

He points to a split tree farther back the way they’d come. “She says she wants to go for good.”

Alexandria had died from a fever when she was thirteen; Fabian, soul speaker, has been connected to her for centuries. They are old friends, as if brother and sister, and Aino knows Alexandria’s spirit must be tired of this poor life; to be seen by one, heard by one, to be unable to touch or feel or be. Soul speakers absorb the souls of those near to them; for Fabian to have done so for Alexandria, he must’ve been in the room when she died.

Though he remembers naught; his memories, like Aino’s, fade with time but beyond that get muddled with the spirits’ he carries. Their memories invade his mind, take root; sometimes he does not act like himself, and Elia worries for him.

Elia looks back to the split tree, then to Fabian again. “Is it time to release her?” she asks kindly, and Fabian scrubs a hand over his face.

“I don’t want to!”

Sahar steps up; he wraps an arm around Fabian’s slight shoulders and the soul speaker turns into his side. “Perhaps releasing her to the Other Side, to become a summons, is a better end than awaiting Draksis.” At least in the Land of the Spirits, the Other Side, she may sleep for eternity and still be considered alive, the possibility of being turned into a summons a happy thought most mortals prize.

Fabian eventually peels away from his companions and goes to the tree; the air about him shimmers and shifts, as if grieving quietly, all the other souls he carries portraying his grief and their own. He speaks quietly by the tree, he sets a hand out, palm up, and then speaks the words “I release you to no more pain.” There’s a gentle glow, like a firefly, and it fades away until nothing is left but Fabian and his shimmer; he returns to their side with downtrodden shoulders.

“Would you like to be dismissed?” Elia asks, as kindly as before, and when Fabian nods she smiles. “You are dismissed.”

Fabian disappears as he had appeared, with a soft pop and distortion; Aino breathes a soft, heavy sigh. That was his fifth soul he had to release just this week, and his best friend; his energy is lowered considerably, both by the loss of the souls’ strength and his own grief. She worries for him almost as much as Elia does.

“To the council then?”

Elia straightens her shoulders, turns on her heel, and stares down the path set before them; “To the council.”

They march together, Aino at Elia’s right side.

[O]

This was not her normal summons; the small girl, her name Elia, summoned Aino frequently. More so at night, though dark was a constant in this domain, and requested stories or knowledge; what she wished to gain, Aino didn’t understand, but she obliged. She did not have much choice, for her being was bound to the card Elia held, but not very often did her summoners request her mere presence beyond what battle might she held.

“Teach me something,” Elia ordered.

“What would you like to know?”

“Teach me of the council; have you met them before in your travels?” She was well spoken, save for the occasional stutter of uncertainty or mispronounced word.

“The council changes from century to century; one time it was merrily in place to organize ceremonies. Once it tried to hunt the summoners and kill them.” ‘Tis a sore memory, for her summoner had been killed by the council in that year; ‘tis a sore memory, for the council had been made for so much better. “I’ve heard now it schools summoners, organizes them into a task force, and directs them to certain tasks; is that true?”

Elia glanced away; even in the low light, her eyes sparkled. Green, flecks of honey that caught the torch’s low light. “Father says they will kill us if we reveal ourselves.”

Strange occurrences happen to people; one of the strangest Aino had ever experienced was the feeling of knowing something without being able to articulate it. It would be there, in her mind, as a picture or a word or a feeling, but she could not get her throat to work; words could not describe what she saw in her mind. But she knew it was there, and she knew it was bad, she knew it was painful. So she chose to forget, if only a lie to herself.

“Perhaps the council has not changed its ways then.”

Elia picked at invisible lint on her blanket; “perhaps… What places have you seen?”

“Vast deserts, burning caves, frozen mountains, small villages and large cities.” Aino wondered what she might see with Elia; if anything, fore it appeared Elia had never once left the tower. Nor would her father allow her to.

Elia too seemed to think the same; her face fell, and she looked out the window, to the wasteland below, the dark stormy sky, the angry air. “I want to see those places too.”

Aino found herself promising it would happen one day.

[O]

While summons are not allowed in the council room, Aino is a very special exception; she finds many people are more lenient around her, whether in deference for her once status or her imposing figure or guilt. It matters not to Aino. She stands at Elia’s side, staring the council members down as they listen with bored expressions to Elia’s story.

“Lord Draksis made another attack, this time on a village on the outskirts of Lethia.”

“And how, pray tell, did you even cross Lethia? Last we heard you were near the mountains.”

Aino blinks at the high lord Herthine; he is a prominent summoner, with a wide array of spirits at his beck and call. He does not scare Aino. “You know how we crossed it; on our feet, by our own willpower, to stay ahead of Draksis’ poison.”

“And yet you were unable to do anything to stop him, if he even is near in Lethia.” Kirkwhe laughs. “This darkness you report was last spotted in Iridium.”

“Which is on the east of the Council City, with Lethia to the wast, the Dark Lands to the north.” Elia lays her hands out in a beseeching manner. “Do you not see? Do you not see his plan?”

“All that is left for him to destroy is Thrifel in the south, and he will have you boxed in.”

“Draksis has not awakened for centuries, let alone left his domain. Whatever ailment has befallen the land of Junis is not his doing.”

“Draksis,” Aino speaks, stepping forward, and her armor clanks loudly, “Has been awake for three hundred years; long enough to plan, long enough to grow powerful.”

“He is weakened by the chaining spells, beyond the belief he is a myth now; you’ve read the books, Aino Aquilla.”

“I have lived them, Lord Kirkwhe,” she stares him down. “Or do you forget who I am?”

“No one could forget who you are, Aquilla; warrior goddess of our histories, worshipped in our temples.” Herthine steeples his hands, and the council shifts uneasily. “Legendary summons, aider in our time of need.”

“Victim of council betrayal, locked in slumber against her will, while you tore my lover from my arms!” She catches herself when her voice echoes, glancing briefly at Elia, who watches her with wide eyes. “You forget I was not the only warrior goddess, and you forget the history I have with Draksis; he is awakened, and he is coming, and he will destroy you if you do not heed our words for once.”

The council grumbles and chatters and dismisses Elia’s claims once more, reminding her to chain her summons or she will be punished; she twists on her heel, her white cape fluttering behind her, and leaves in a flurry.

“You will not be chained,” she says, “never again.” The punishment for having free summons is to have them forcibly chained to a Council member and leased out to her; she won’t have that. She will run for years, back to the Dark Lands where no one can travel, if it means her summons have their freedom.

“And Draksis?”

She pauses, turns her gaze upwards to Aino’s face. “If the council will not stop him then we will have to.”

[O]

“You are my daughter,” the voice hissed and huffed. “And you will do as I say!”

Aino hated that voice; the hissing guttural sound of a dying man. His hands were bone thin, skin clinging on by bits of string, sewn and repaired, scarred and burned; he hated her, he hurt Elia. Aino wanted him dead.

Elia, wide eyes fearful, cowered. “Father, please…”

She’d cried for years in her sleep, waking when called with stains on her face; it had been horrific, to have her other half torn from her. Standing here in the shadows and watching Elia’s shoulders shake with horrified sobs, she felt anger boil; anger was better than grief. She could wield anger.

The man glided about the room, around Elia, settling a long fingered hand on her shoulder; heavy like, threatening, directing. “I am training you to be strong, to succeed where I have failed! You will do as I say!”

Aino shifted; her armor creaked, and she stilled as the beady eyes were turned on her, dark and toxic. He was a gruesome and wretched being.

The man turned back to Elia, leaning down to whisper foul words in her ear. “I love you, Elia, my daughter; I care for you. You won’t understand now; someday you will. So trust me.”

Elia turned her tear streaked face to Aino; they’d shared so much in the past few years. So many memories, laying awake side by side while the tower shrieked, curling close with hands clasped together, foreheads touching, eyes shut tight against nightmares. Aino nodded; she would share this burden; she would carry it for Elia, soothe her worries.

The beast released her and retreated back into the shadows, leaving Elia to shake and cry quietly.

Aino kept her gaze on the man flittering through the shadows; his grin was twisted, dark, teeth rotted where he cowered. Aino wanted him dead; she felt it burning in her veins, and as Elia left the room quickly on unsteady feet, shoulders heaving more than before, Aino followed.

“Elia.”

The girl sobbed, feet dancing around as she pressed a hand to her mouth to quiet her cries; Aino would have none of it. She filed her anger and hate away for later, when she could face that villain; for now, she had to care for the young summoner, with every kindness and warm feeling she held for the girl.

Aino stepped forward, slipping her hand into Elia’s, to ground her. “This isn’t right; what he says isn’t right.”

Elia sobbed, and Aino pulled her close, cradled her head against her chest plate; she dropped her lips to Elia’s hair.

“You won’t have to listen to him again,” she promised. “I won’t let him treat you like this.”

“…He loves me…”

“No he doesn’t,” Aino corrected her, pulling away to cup her face in her hands. “He does not love you; he is using you.”

Elia took her hands from Aino’s hand. “He’s nice; he gives me presents when I do good.”

“Would he threaten to punish you because you refuse to kill a boy?”

Elia looked away hurriedly, straightened her shoulders, and Aino brushed the tears from her face. “I…”

“He does not love you.”

[O]

Elia twists away from a shadow in time to slam her arm against a tree, and Aino yells something from across the meadow; Fabian forms his souls into a shield and braces as a shadow leaps at him, spindly arms outstretched with clawed hands. Javvy hisses lowly.

_“Run, run, princess!”_

“Javvy, you’re not helping!” She calls forth her light, little dark shining bolts that zig-zag for their target from the giant pearl in her staff. She doesn’t notice the shadow looming up behind her, and when she finally does it’s too late to move; she turns to face it, her hood flopping on her head, and it thrusts a stalactite arm through her shoulder. She cries out in pain and Javvy growls, launches forward, and sinks their teeth into the shadow’s neck; Javvy’s teeth are sharp and pointed, and the shadow disappears, leaving Elia with a gaping and burning wound in her shoulder.

She glances around for her summons; Fabian and Sahar work in tandem to protect each other, and Javvy watches her with wide eyes, hissing worried questions, and then she spots Aino; the warrior is still, gripping her giant sword tight, gaze murderous and wide, and Elia sways where she stands.

“Aino…”

The warrior hurries the few feet between them, sheathing her sword and coming to capture Elia as she falls; Aino eases them to the ground, Elia cradled in her arms and against her chest. “Elia, you fool!” Aino applies pressure, and Javvy bounces away with a hissing shriek to attack the shadows that are still left; Fabian appears before the two girls, and he mutters quietly to his souls. The air shimmers as they surround Elia and Aino, shielding them.

“Elia, you fool,” Aino reiterates, and Elia laughs wetly as Aino applies pressure to her wound.

“It hurts…”

“Of course it does! Why didn’t you just stay put? I told you to stay safe!”

Elia smiles up at Aino, oddly enough feeling calmed seeing her battle ready gaze, her determinedness to take care of Elia. “I can’t let you have all the fun.”

Something stirs up in Aino’s mind, a long forgotten memory of another girl in her arms, bleeding out; her life seeping away. She hadn’t died then, but it had still been close. Aino shakes her head. “If it keeps you safe, I would rather you live a boring life…”

Elia laughs again, and Aino wishes she knew magic; she wishes to heal, but all she can do is smile down at Elia encouragingly and press against her bleeding wound. One day, she will be able to save Elia.

One day, she won’t have to worry about people taking her away.

[O]

They laid quietly together under the heavy blankets, hidden away from her father and the darkness around them; here, it was just them, hand in hand, sharing puffs of air.

“I…I don’t like it here.”

Aino hummed; “do you want to leave?”

“Leave where? Father will find me; he’ll take me back. He’ll…hurt me…”

Aino tightened her grip. “I won’t let him; come away. We can make it; there’s a desert to the east. Lithia. We can make it there; we can survive, we can live. It’s a dusty place, but I know we can make it.”

Elia sniffled, and Aino reached out to touch her cheeks; no tears, at least not yet. “We have to take everyone else too.” Fabian, Sahar, Javvy…

“Of course.”

Elia sat up abruptly, reached to the bedside table for her deck of cards, and summoned each one; she looked at each in turn, calmly and respectfully, and they looked back in kind.

“You are free,” Elia spoke, “of my claim on you.”

Sahar was the first to take a knee, showing respect. “I will be yours to summon in your time of need, my lady; I am bound to you for your kindness and care.”

The others too agreed, and Elia shook her head.

“I am leaving the tower.”

“Then we will follow all the more,” Fabian spoke; then, he had been determined, not lost. He had been whole with all his soul friends. “To protect you as you’ve protected us from Draksis.”

Javvy hissed, as if to tell Fabian not to speak his name, and Elia slipped from her bed to lace her boots; when she straightened once more, she looked to the cards in her hands and promptly tore them in little pieces, tossing them to the air around her. Instead of the weight of paper, she felt little pressures in her limbs, one at the back of her neck, the heaviest and most comforting in her hand. Her summons, still loyal to her, had attached themselves to her, to her being, to her body.

Aino slipped from the bed and her armor materialized over her casual clothing, summoned freely, and she gripped Elia’s hand suddenly. Afraid of being separated; this was dangerous, but they would be free.

Once more, Aino and her companion would be free.

[O]

Elia breathes easily, in and out, her chest rising and falling, and Aino gently tucks her collar together; she was checking the other’s wound, and now that she’s satisfied Elia is in no danger, she leans back against the tree and clasps her wrist with her opposite hand. Elia is cradled there, in her arms, against her chest and in her lap, and Aino relaxes.

The wound hadn’t been too extensive, only nasty looking, and Aino had wrapped it tight; Javvy had disappeared in a plume of smoke, settling in their summon location behind Elia’s left ear. Fabian curls against Sahar’s side, and fireflies twinkle against the forest backdrop; Aino tips her head back against the tree, takes a breath, forgets…

She lies, sometimes; her memories aren’t all fuzzy, aren’t all splintered, aren’t all forgotten with age. She remembers one face ever clearly, so very clearly, kind and gentle; she remembers how this person had felt in her arms, similar to Elia now, and it hurts her.

How would their life have turned out? Would Draksis still be chained? Would Aino and her love be happy? Would they be summoned by a sweet girl like Elia?

They would still love each other, that Aino has no doubt of.

She breathes deeply and closes her eyes; she loves that woman, and she loves Elia.

[O]

They’d escaped the Dark Lands, pursued by the skittering demon; Elia stumbled over the roots and the mounds and the bones, the vastness that was filled with the dead, sucking in gasps of poisoned acidic air. Aino knew this terrain though, knew it well, and she led her companion through the darkness. The sky rumbled low, dark staticky clouds, and Sahar’s limbs glowed like fireflies; his electricity lit their way, through the filaments in his wires, and Fabian clutched at the tree man’s giant hand.

Elia’s father stopped pursuing them the closer they got to the edge; the less upturned trees, the less ash, the less dead… They hadn’t stopped running since they had taken their first steps out of the tower, the second rebellious action; the first had been ripping the summoning cards apart, releasing her summons.

Elia had gasped and begged for a break; “just a short one,” she said, breath wheezing as she stumbled in the stormy darkness; she was growing tired, weakening from the poison filling her lungs. “Please…”

But they couldn’t; if they did, he would catch up to them, kill Sahar and Fabian and Javvy, and drag Elia back to the tower. Back to her dungeon, back to her unhappily-ever after, the princess trapped in the tower with no prince coming to save her; but that was ok.

She didn’t need a prince, Aino thought as she swept the summoner into her arms, pressing her close to her chest for safe keeping.

Elia had a warrior goddess.

[O]

Fabian paces slowly through the aisles and aisles of old bookshelves, running his fingers almost reverently across the texts; Sahar is not allowed in most places, for his bulk and height, so Elia carries him at the base of her foot. He rests easily, slumbering in the Land of the Spirits until he is needed again or feels the want to emerge.

Aino turns her head, balancing her chin on her hand, and watches Elia’s delicate fingers brush across the book in front of her; “do you understand better?”

Elia rolls her eyes up to look at Aino, tired and frustrated. “No; we know Draksis. We know who he is and we know how he operates and we know what he wants. Why do I need to read these?”

Aino leans forward, resting an open hand upon the book and Elia readily slips her hand in Aino’s. “You need to know his history; if only we are going to take Draksis seriously, you need to understand his origin.”

Elia sighs. “Alright; so you said to start with the Elder Script?”

Aino nods and grabs the old tome, flipping through the pages reverently. “I remember when this was written.” She remembers the sound of the quill on the paper, scratchy and scratchier, and she remembers the way the ink smelled as it dried; she remembers her lover’s hand in hers, and she remembers the tears they spilled. Grieving, betrayed and hurting… “Here,” she hands the many paged book to Elia, swallowing to bury the memories. “Start here; to defeat an enemy you must first know them.”

Elia watches Aino, a worried frown on her face and a furrow to her brows; her eyes are so very wide and bright, green glistening with emotions. “Are you alright, Aino?”

The warrior smiles; yes, she is well. She focuses on Elia right now; she will always remember her previous life, her previous love, her previous battles. But right now Elia is gripping the written script of all Aino has accomplished, and Draksis is threatening Aino’s world once more.

“Read, Elia; you will understand.”

So Elia reads.

[O]

_FRIST EVENT_

_I and my descendants have been assigned the role as Recorder; we, as such, will write down the events that have taken place and will take place in the future as we live our lives besides the gods and goddesses._

_The first event can never be recorded, as we were unaware it was to bring about an awakening in our lives; the development of the Council as our leaders and protectors was something unknowingly needed, for we as people were lost and in need of guidance, but can be remembered as a wondrous celebration._

_Beyond our unawareness, the changes were not immediate and did not begin at a set date; rather, the deities revealed themselves slowly, in small ways. Blessings bestowed upon children, the elderly being healed of their sicknesses, lucky charms and kind spells… Beasts were driven from our homelands, soil said to be poisoned was revived, droughts were cured by the benevolence of our Council._

_Our Council, great beings that have cared for us for centuries, has been established in this recent month, the Spring of our Chief Savien; the Council consists of the following deities, graciously bestowing their presence upon our mortal realm:_

_-Sahola, the deity of all things sky related; bringer of storms and caregiver to our sun, bright and glorious_  
-Draksis, younger brother of Sahola, deity of the dark and wind, cool and ever so welcoming, our dream charmer and our childrens’ protector  
-Aino the Warrior Goddess, tall and strong, bearer of the mighty sword and wearer of the white armor, our staunch protector and gentle lover  
-Lhilhi the Kind Mage, the small counterpart to our warrior giant, gentle mother to our orphaned and the loving caretaker of our nature  
-Harrion, the rose bringer, the promiser, cupid and time keeper  
-Rentuva the Archer, hunter for our farmers and farmer for our hunters, scavenger and royal fiend  
-Zeru of the east, inventive woman and helpful aid in all things homely, domestic and motherly

_Our Council of seven, our gentle giants, our loyal companions, our honorable guides; we worship them without order, we love them for their nature, and they care for us without recompense. They are truly the only good in this world._

_SECOND EVENT_

_Several months after the Council’s forming and we report a bountiful harvest, restful nights, and eased worries; our guides have aided us along during the farming months, relieving burdens and allowing us to flourish._

_Aino and Lhilhi are inseparable, having been domesticating their temple with the gifts of blankets and cushions and trinkets from us worshippers, and Zeru is ever patient; we have begun construction on a water wheel to turn our grain stores. Zeru has also provided us with a forked plow to aid in setting rows for planting seeds. Rentuva aids the widows in bringing them meat from the forests, and Harrion has been reported to be assigning soulmates on the coast of Thrifel._

_Draksis and Sahola have taken to the northern lands; the children there have welcomed them readily, happily rumoring of restful nights free of fear and not one has been lost during the day. We are truly blessed with these deities._

_FIFTEENTH EVENT_

_We have gathered buckets of gold to inlay their temple with, and when gifted with it Aino laughed kindly and Lhilhi kissed Abrian’s cheek._

_“Keep it,” Lhilhi spoke. “You may use it in your transactions; Zeru would be aghast if you wasted it on us when you could easily purchase new clothes or furniture.”_

_“You are worthy of our patronage,” we assured them, and the builders even presented themselves to do the work of emblazoning the floors and pillars with the gold. “We wish for your dwelling to shine as you shine upon us.”_

_They still resisted, but we were fervent in our endeavors to show our affection and gratitude; eventually, they relented, and Draksis plucked dark plumage from his extensive wings and Sahola too gave us feathers from his wings too, shiny golden ones. We are truly honored._

There are various other events recorded, speakings of their aid; Sahola calling rains when needed and Draksis holding the night off when a woodsman was lost in the woods. Zeru continuing to solve the fraud in businesses and offering ideas to young housewives of ways to ease their burdens. Aino’s assistance, being a warrior goddess in peaceful times, was to provide protection to travelers from the occasional bandits; though her assistance was mostly uneeded, she rather surrounded herself with the community.

She was a constant with Lhilhi as the small mage woman flitted through nature and eased the animals’ anxiety; she could easily be found in stables and caves, speaking calmly to cattle and bears alike. Hand in hand, they traipsed the lands with smiling visages and warm hearts.

There are also records of the shiftings of power, from Chieftain to Chieftain to a King and then a Queen; the Recorder is also said to be passed down, from father to daughter to son to son to cousin to nephew to daughter and so on…

_FOUR HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-EIGHTH EVENT_

_Aino’s patience and grace is admirable; months ago a curious child pestered her with questions and she yielded patient answers, easy to understand for the young boy._

_“Where did you come from?” he asked without preamble and Aino is reported to have smiled at the boy, motherly and kind, and take a knee at his height._

_“We came from the Land of the Spirits; it is a place parallel with this world, where others like us walk and sleep.”_

_“At the same time?”_

_She laughed, quietly and calmly. “Yes; we exist in duality.”_

_The boy looked at her on confusion and she shifted, drawing in the sand._

_“We exist here, with you; Sahola and Draksis. But, we also exist in the Land of the Spirits, where we may pull on the strings of fate. Sahola urges the sun to rise in the Land of the Spirits while he stands upon a balcony here. So we exist in duality; so we may sleep and walk in the Land of the Spirits.”_

_More curious beings have asked Aino for knowledge, and Lhilhi has been reported to sit curled in her lover’s arms during the warrior’s lessons; we have learned of their culture, their ease of life together. We have learned of various other deities there, not quite gods and goddesses but still of power. We have learned of their language and we speak it on occasion, sigils and twirls of the tongue._

_NINE HUNDRED AND THIRTIETH EVENT_

_Our monthly sacrifices to the Council have slowly dwindled; we find no need to provide them trinkets of gratitude if they gift them back to us. As such, many have instead begun to boast of their treasures by embellishing their own dwellings rather than gift them in humbled servitude; I prophesize a new age coming to us, where poverty or the appearance of such is soon to be naught._

_I am unsure if this is a bad development or not; the deities still smile upon us, so I don’t perceive this as being any ill will other than recognizing their kindness to us is not determinable upon our submissiveness to them._

_Instead, we are equals; they consider us friends and care for us for naught but care._

_ONE THOUSAND AND SEVENTH EVENT_

_Our Council’s guidance has saved us many a time but we have fallen upon difficult times; the rains have grown less sure, the sun beating hot and hotter. Lhilhi has attempted to commune with the lands to bare us fruit despite the drought, but her efforts have so far proven mostly useless._

_There have been a few reports of her efforts bearing results, but they have been scattered and could very well be mere chance; we have, thankfully, in the years past stocked up on our abundance of crops and meat, and Rentuva has doubled his efforts to bring us game to tie us over until the earth and sky work together again._

_We can only sit and hope; it would appear our guardians can do nothing for us._

_ONE THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-SECOND EVENT_

_The forest game is disappearing; there have been strange reports of other deities appearing in the deserts of Lethia. I do not believe in these reports; our guardians would have informed us of their friends’ appearances and invited them to join the Council._

_I expect these reports are made to discredit our own deities, especially so with these other happenings; the drought and lack of animals. We will not despair; there is still hope. Two bad years will not result in a loss of our love._

_ONE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED AND THIRD EVENT_

_We have been abandoned; whether because we refused to gift offerings of our loyalty or simply because our gods have grown bored with us._

_We’ve attempted to enter back into their good graces, by offering up what little extra coin we have left over after doing business with traveling traders to help us survive the coming months; we have offered our sickly lambs and Faria brought out her prized cow in hopes of appeasing them._

_They refused. We have truly been abandoned._

_TWO THOUSAND THIRTY-SECOND EVENT_

_It has been several years since the first drought; since then, we have had floods and mass deaths and epidemics. Our peaceful lives have been all but destroyed; there seems to be no light. Our lands are wrecked, our homes lay in ruins._

_All that’s left to hold onto is our children’s innocent smiles; they do not yet understand what horror we live in. They have no nightmares still, they walk to and from school with a skip in their steps. They keep us going, hoping with them in their kindness and love._

_Our deities have retreated to their temple, at the center of Iridium the ice lands in east, Lethia the desert in the west, Thrifel the great cities in the south, and paradise Dreina in the north. The Council City is where they have retreated, forsaking us to our doom._

_A few still believe they are attempting to help us, leaving their dwellings to offer us fruit from their store and extra blankets for the cold months._

_TWO THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED AND FIRST EVENT_

_The land is not ours anymore; it is not the Lhilhi’s or Rentuva’s, our love is not Harrion’s, our safety is not Aino Aquilla’s, our skies are not for Sahola nor Draksis, our happiness is not Zeru’s. They promise us they are trying to help, but we continue to die._

_Our crops rot, our bodies ache, and we now live in tolerance with these so called deities._

_THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SECOND EVENT_

_Our children are plagued as our crops are, the Council abandoning us when we need them most; when asked, they claim to still be doing all we ask of them. We may be mortals but we are not fools; we see Lhilhi grow fat, we’ve witnessed Draksis deliver our children these fears, we’ve watched Sahola abandon the sun and allow rains to flood our land and then abandon us for years._

_We have stopped the worship of our once-deities, we have refused them acknowledgement; they do not deserve our love if they will not love us back. They have grown lazy and selfish and we will no longer tolerate their apathy and their lies._

_Tonight, we raid their temple; tonight, we demand Draksis pay for the terrors he hands our children. Tonight, we demand justice._

_THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THIRD EVENT_

_Our raid and judgment did not go as planned; in our efforts to apprehend Draksis and try him for the horrors he has wrought upon us, Sahola would not let us near his brother. They claimed to be fighting the sickness that has claimed our lives, Aino and Rentuva hunting the beasts in our woods with Lhilhi imploring the soil to grow; we know they are lying, and we forced our way into their temple, amongst their midst, upon the golden floor we’ve not walked in centuries._

_Aino was there, and Lhilhi too; both stood tall and strong, defending their partners; Harrion, Rentuva, and Zeru were present too, also prepared for battle. Their focus was on defending Sahola and Draksis, as our main focus was on them, and we tried to muscle our way past their defenses without a conflict._

_A fight erupted; I could not say when or how it started, but perhaps with too rough a shove from Rentuva or one on our side. Whatever the incentive, there was a scuffle. A large on, violent and disruptive, destroying the shrines we had once gifted these deities; vases shattered, gifts and treasures destroyed, I believe I spotted several of us pocketing silver and gold._

_In the fighting, several of us got a hold of Draksis; the deities could not hold us back, another show of their lack of power over us. We had him in chains, wrapping them tightly about his body, and one had broken a knifeblade off in his abdomen; both the chains and the weapon had been etched with sigils we have learned over the years, ways to keep them subdued._

_They had always been willing to share knowledge of the Land of the Spirits, their language of spells and foreign thoughts; we learned how their language, some of us how to control the language. Bend it to our will; and we did just that, attempting to bend Draksis to our will. To confess, to be punished._

_In the chaos, Sahola drew nearer to protect his brother; he, with his golden wings and glowing visage, so twisted in anger and fear, ran for us. With a yell, he lunged too close and, in the excitement, we swung a sword through his chest cavity._

_We killed a god._

_His horrified look of betrayal, so frozen on his face with the shock clear in his eyes, will haunt me; this was not our goal, and I have learned what true fear is._

_True fear is when a god of darkness breaks free from his bonds with a livid cry of anguish, shaking the walls and shattering the painted windows; true fear is when the warrior goddess Aino grips her sword and swings wildly, complete disregard for civilian life; true fear is when Lhilhi, so very kind and warm, falls to her knees and weeps great tears down her delicate face…_

_True fear is when you realize they—the gods and goddess, our once staunch protectors, now our sworn enemy—have never once shown you their true potential for violence._

_True fear is when we realize these deities reigned in their strength and power, kindness even as we trampled upon their holy ground and murdered them._

_THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOURTH EVENT_

_Aino saw to the burial of Sahola; the worshippers were not invited. We were not invited, though we saw the smoke from our homes. We sit in fear, barely any word from the temple; our skies grow darker, whether that is due to the loss of Sahola or his brother’s grief drawing the darkness we cannot say._

_What we do know is that our own losses were flung at our feet a few short days after the raid upon the towering Council Temple; Aino’s face has never been so cold, not in all the records we have writ in our short lives. Rentuva kept an arrow nocked, his own face impassive with aggression while Aino flung our lost loved ones down the Council steps._

_“Bury your dead,” she told us, tone bitter and acidic. “Barricade your homes,” she warned us, tone saddened and cold. “Vindictive guardians you have made,” she informed us, eyes ablazing and we knew danger for the first time in generations._

_So we have done as she instructed; we have buried our dead, held ceremonies, and mourn behind locked doors and terrified frowns. What they will do to us we do not know; this darkness hangs heavy, even during the day, and we fear their retribution._

_THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTH EVENT_

_Draksis has gone to the oasis in the north, to Dreina, and he has built a tower there; tall, dark, imposing. He has enslaved many of our people, forcing them to build the tower brick by heavy brick. They have died, the land growing weeds and burnt grass._

_We will not stand by this; if the Council will not reign in their volatile monster we will._

_THREE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED_

_The Council has gone to address Draksis in the north, where he has secluded himself in his tower; they left weeks ago, and all that we have heard is they have disappeared within his tower._

_The land continues to fester and boil and rot; I have heard rumors of some farms returning to normal, but Dreina is still dying. I only hope the Council is not too late and the people there can be saved._

_THREE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIRST EVENT_

_The Council has returned with news; they have reported to have chained Draksis in a state of slumber within his tower, with spells and foreign things we were taught ages ago._

_Dreina has been destroyed; it has been reported that the air is poisoned now. No mortal can survive there; no mortal has. An entire chunk of our kingdom has been murdered in mass genocide. With one giant rip, Draksis destroyed an entire people; trees uprooted, animals burned, and people choked. The Dark Lands were formed._

_Claims have come forward, in secret and quiet, to report the chaining of other fiends from the Land of the Spirit by us mere mortals; we need not fear these creatures. We can chain them, use them, tame them._

_Tonight, we will be rid of these illnesses upon our land. We will be rid of the Council and make our own._

[O]

The Records say no more, but Elia is beginning to put the pieces together; still, there are questions, and she asks horrified.

“What happened?” Elia still keeps her eyes riveted to the pages; the Records are one sided, and she knows there’s still a lot missing. “Why did the world fall apart?”

“We were too trustful; in our efforts to connect with the people, we allowed them access to the Land of the Spirits. Summoners cropped up, secretive and quiet in their rituals; they bound our people who slumbered in the Land of the Spirits, and the Land did not appreciate it.” Aino remembers the cold feeling as the Land tore itself from her, remembers holding Lhilhi as she cried; the Land had been their home, their life, and in its pain it pushed them away. “The Land was once bright and filled with…peace, calm; it was poisoned into the vast void of darkness it is now. Cold…”

“And you tried to help; tried to help us even when we were hurting you.”

Aino ponders this; it has been a while since those events, memories faded and still painful. “We still wanted to believe in you; we had known you for so long we wanted to believe you would believe in us. We thought you knew us better than to think we would ever harm you.”

“And then we forced you back into the Land of the Spirits.”

“You seized control.”

Elia shakes her head, disgust evident on her face. “Is there a way to give it back? We don’t deserve the power; we should have never enslaved you.”

For a moment, Aino doesn’t say anything; she assesses Elia, then goes about picking at her nails. “That’s what Draksis wanted; it’s what made him the monster we know today.” She cannot look Elia in the face when she lies to her; she cannot look at Elia’s so innocent and beautiful eyes, trusting and gentle.

“But Draksis was…once kind…?”

Aino glances up; she tucks her fingers into a fist and shifts in her seat. “He was once my friend; he was once everyone’s friend. But then we were betrayed and Sahola was murdered and Draksis…changed; we were forced to lock him away, for the safety of the people.”

Elia brushes her hand delicately across the old text; what horrors Aino lived through. “They betrayed you; they…chained you. What happened to the other deities? Aino? What happened to Rentuva and Zeru and Lhilhi?”

Aino’s eyes are glossy; she too regards the text, mouth twisted in disgust and eyes wide in grief. “I do not know; I have not seen them for…millennia. They could be dead; they could never have been summoned. They may slumber in the Land of the Spirits.”

There’s a fragile pause, the only sound of breathing and Fabian whispering somewhere in the library; papers shuffle and quills scratch. “That’s not what you told the Council or me; Aino, what happened to Lhilhi? What happened to your lover?” Elia’s voice is so soft and caring, too sympathetic for Aino; she glances up sharply, and a tear spills down her cheek. Elia reaches out to grasp her hand tightly, supportively.

“We used to be a duel summons,” she confesses. “Where one went the other followed; I would awake with her in my arms, and she with me. One day…one day we were not summoned together. There was a ritual, and she was ripped from my arms as I slept in the Land of the Spirits; I tried to hold onto her. I tried so hard to keep her close but… I failed her too.” Aino swallows thickly. “I have not felt her in…”

Too long to keep count; long enough for scars to form, not so long that she did not still remember her taste, her smell, her touch. Gentle Lhilhi, loving Lhilhi, honorable and caring and open minded; her smile, the way she kissed Aino, stepping up high on her tiptoes. Her nose scrunching as she laughed, when Aino would sling her arms over her shoulders and across her collarbone, running a thumb gently across her skin as they swayed in a meadow, free and together…

“I can only assume,” Aino chokes out, “that she is dead too.”

Elia bites her lip until it bleeds and Aino makes a tutting sound, shifting; she reaches her free hand out and brushes her thumb across Elia’s chin, coaxing her to release her skin. “Was it the Council?” she questions, and Aino can understand her curiosity.

The Records were halted shortly after the deities were chained in their own lands, considered myths now despite Aino’s numerous appearances and title; they were myths, disregarded, thought of as nothing other than tools now.

“I do not know; if it was, it’s certain she was murdered. We were still feared greatly, powerful in our duel summons, and it only makes sense they would want us separated.”

“Could it have been someone else? Could she just be separated from you?”

Aino shakes her head, retrieves her hand from Elia’s and clasps it in her lap. “No; I would sense her. She is gone from me forever.”

[O]

Lhilhi adored Aino Aquilla; Lhilhi loved Aino so very much. The Land of the Spirits was a peaceful place, glorious and bright, but nothing could compare to the warrior dressed in white; she slept so peacefully, soft breathing brushing across the vast lands, and she walked with power in her steps. Lhilhi admired her, admired her strong shoulders and shining chest plate, admired her glistening sword and fond smile.

When the Other Side called to the warrior goddess, Lhilhi followed too; they awoke in a field full of white carnations and white lilies, live for love and heavenly appreciation, pink and white roses as if to prophesy their everlasting love. Her eyes, wide and the brightest green, opened slowly and she felt a hand tighten around her hands; there was a face directly in front of hers and it was fuzzy until her eyes focused.

Aino smiled back at her, a gentle turn to her lips, and she smiled back; Aino Aquilla was there, laying with Lhilhi in a paradise.

“Good morning, princess,” Aino’s voice was quiet and strong. “We have arrived on the Other Side.”

Lhilhi’s heart picked up speed, stuttered, and if Aino’s soft chuckle was anything to go by her cheeks were splotched red. “Good morning, great warrior.”

Aino raised herself to her knees, still watching her companion with a calm and ever warm gaze; “shall we go explore this vast and new land?”

Lhilhi tightened her hold on her companion’s hand; a yes. An affirmative; and, in a way, a promise to walk by her side as long as she’d let her.

So they traipsed side by side for months, though time was irrelevant to goddesses such as them; at times, Aino was Lhilhi’s support. She would listen to Lhilhi’s worries of nature, of the creatures torture and their fears, of the plants that begged for water but received none; she would rest a hand upon the back of Lhilhi’s neck as she knelt to beg a flower to hold on a bit longer. A gentle massage, a warm gesture of comradery and support when the flower would wilt away.

When an uprooted tree blocked their path, Aino clambered over it with efficiency and Lhilhi was left gaping in awe on the forest floor, staff clutched tightly in her hands as if that could make her worthy to travel with such a warrior; and Aino had surprised her once more. A radiant smile and a gauntleted hand, offered to her with outstretched fingers.

“Come,” Aino beckoned, head tipping affectionately. “I could not leave such a princess stranded in such a dire situation.”

Lhilhi glanced around for any danger and found none; she turned a slightly exasperated smirk on her companion. “What situation?”

“Why, without a proper guard you might get hurt; which is why I’m here to always protect you.”

Lhilhi took the offered hand, and Aino helped her over the giant tree; it was, in a way, a promise.

The children took to soft and gentle Lhilhi with ease, whereas they eyed Aino with something like nervousness and interest; and Lhilhi, ever loving and patient, eased the children in intimidating Aino’s direction. She settled a young boy on the giant Aino’s shoulders, listening to another young girl who was bragging and holding up the frog she’d caught earlier that day.

The boy was surprised, and the look on Aino’s face was equally shocked, but Lhilhi fell in love all over again when she took to the change with ease; she hooked her hands over the boy’s ankles and didn’t once flinch or complain when he poked her in the eye twice. She smiled warmly down at the girls surrounding Lhilhi and Lhilhi found herself distracted by the mantra of perfection swirling in her mind.

Aino was perfect, in every way.

They met the sky brothers near Lethia’s desert boarder in the west; they were walking with a wide birth, clearly frightening the locals with their grandiose height and grander wingspan. Lhilhi likened them to trees, tall and lanky, and predator birds; their ears were small and tipped, not quite like the elvish Rolki, caretaker of all things despised, but still noticeable. Their eyes were beady and wise, and they walked with the grace of a swaying branch in a soft breeze.

“Hello, fellows!” Aino called out in companionship, greeting the other deities with poise and friendship. “Have you found interests?”

The taller and fairer, with his choppy golden hair and more golden wings, gave a royal bow at the waist; “Sahola, daylight sky; this land is welcoming.” He motioned to his own companion, of slighter build but broader shoulders and darker colors. “Draksis my dear brother, harbinger of the night.”

Draksis too bowed and Lhilhi knew he was charming; and he was, with a voice soft and poetic, and Sahola too ever easy. They traveled briefly together for a time, the four beings companionable; until Sahola’s interest was stolen by the bright and colorful lands in the north, Dreina with its oases and gorgeous landscapes.

They parted on good terms, promising to connect in the Land of the Spirits when possible.

One of Lhilhi’s favorite pass times in this new land was on the sunniest of days, when Aino would release her armor and flaunt around in a loose crop top, running through fields and laughing in joy; she was a gorgeous person, tall and strong and distinct muscles, with broad shoulders and defined muscles wrapping her arm. She was bright eyes and lengthy loose hair, bright and shining, white and clear; Lhilhi loved that about Aino.

She always wore her hair down, and it billowed with the breeze like a soft silken curtain; Lhilhi wondered if it felt like silk, if it was soft and silky. She wanted to braid it, she wanted to put flowers in her hair, she wanted to watch the waterfall drench it when Aino went for a swim.

Aino laughed loudly as a bird sailed overhead and loudly cried out to them; they were back in that meadow, the one they’d first woken in, and Lhilhi was curled upon a soft blanket, legs tucked to the side, and she smiled as Aino drew close.

Aino’s grin morphed into something mischievous and Lhilhi was unprepared when she twirled and dropped to lay with her head in Lhilhi’s lap. She froze, unsure, and Aino smiled encouragingly at her, reaching up to take one of her grasping hands and settle it on her head. Her abdomen heaved with quiet laughs, skin rippling golden under the sun and beneath her short cut top; Lhilhi was momentarily distracted, enough to jump when Aino called her name.

“Lhilhi,” she spoke softly, a patient smile on her face. “Play with my hair, won’t you, princess?”

She did, hesitantly at first, but growing braver and more comfortable as the truly silky strands slipped between her fingers; Aino’s hair was long, soft and smooth, and Lhilhi found herself being lost in its beauty. She spread the long hair out over her lap, until it was laid out, and then her adept fingers went to work plaiting it; time went by, and Lhilhi didn’t care. Her focus was solely on Aino’s hair, on the motions her hands were making, on the mesmerizing feel and action of braiding.

Aino hummed on occasion, in happiness and then to fill the comfortable silence; joy was evident, happiness and ecstasy, and Lhilhi found herself chiming in with a tune too. It wasn’t until Aino shifted and stretched did Lhilhi notice the shadows had grown long and the sun had sunk low.

“Oh!” she startled, hands flying away from Aino’s hair and the warrior’s eyes shot open.

“Oh, are you done, princess?”

Lhilhi watched with wide eyes as Aquilla sat up, patting at her hair as it once more settled across her back; only this time it was plaited, a great thick braid rolling down her back. Lhilhi felt ashamed, worried; she had wasted a full day of the warrior’s time. That was despicable; Aino could have been fending off bandits or rescuing a kitten from a rushing river.

Aino finished knotting the tip of her braid, keeping it in place at her back; she eyed her companion, even as fireflies began to awaken and dot the field around them. She lent in close, smiling softly. “Lhilhi.”

The mage glanced up sharply, worried; Aino Aquilla was so wonderful, the most beautiful and admirable of those in the Land of the Spirits, and Lhilhi was just a small mage.

“Lhilhi,” Aino called again, leaning closer, and Lhilhi felt her cheeks flush again; she glanced down, watching a bead of sweat roll down Aino’s stomach. “You’re worthy, you know; you’re worthy of everything in the world, of flowers and crown jewels. You are beautiful; from your hair—” here, Aino reached out and smoothed the brown hair atop Lhilhi’s head, tucking the curls behind her ear. “—to your gentle smile.” Running her hand down the other girl’s cheek, cupping her chin and raising her face. “Your eyes, and your laugh, and your gentleness with all things living.”

Lhilhi gazed deep into Aino’s eyes, a clear blue like ice; there’s something there, something that tugged and pulled on Lhilhi’s heart, and she begged it be true. Oh, please, say it’s true.

She brushed her thumb across Lhilhi’s cheek. “I love you, Lhilhi of the forests.”

She breathed, once, twice, lungs expanding; her limbs are warm and floaty, abuzz, and her heart soar with the eagles. “I’m going to kiss you,” she warned, confident in this new found feeling—love, acceptance.

And Aino laughed, quietly and happily. “Please do.”

She surged forward, grasped at Aino’s cheeks, cupping her face still, and kissed her fiercely, madly; amongst the setting sun and the glow of fireflies, they sealed their love for eternity. Held in each others’ arms, they loved and loved until the night grew weary and even then they kissed the sleep from their eyes. They would have an eternity, and every moment they would take.

Where they traveled, they traveled hand in hand, in unity and divine love; the mortals welcomed them with soft smiles, and when they met Harrion he trilled and danced around them, throwing flower petals and soft feathers from the basket he carries.

He shifted from foot to foot when he finally settled in front of them, still squeaking; he pressed his fists to his face, grinning wide, and his face glowed bright but soft. “Ahhh, I love love and I love you and I love your happiness and I just love life!” He threw his hands in the air and twirled and Aino and Lhilhi let him throw his arms around them.

They laughed with him over a warm supper, let him sing of their love, and they too sang with him; he was joy and love and everything bright. He traveled with them for a few weeks, bring smiles to all they met, but he was eventually distracted by Lethia.

“They have harsh lives in the desert lands; I want to bring them love and joy.”

“That’s so honorable, Harrion.”

He smiled wide, sparkles in his eyes, and he gave them one last large embrace before skipping away with a butterfly over his shoulder.

Zeru and Rentuva journeyed together, and the lover goddesses met them in the Capital City at the center of Junis; it was during a ceremony, colorful tapestries and banners and joyful music. Something about the summer harvest and the coming of the fall weather. Rentuva, with his gauged ears and ringed fingers, was soft spoken and quiet, whispers upon the wind but glowing back from a hunt; Zeru was dressed in rag robes, musty brown and patchworked, uncaring of her figure but only in reading a story to the children so their mothers could work unhindered.

They were gentle fellows, quiet partners who requested Aino and Lhilhi stay with them in this particular town for a while; they agreed, happy to keep meeting others from the Land of the Spirits. Rentuva and Zeru didn’t appear to be free roamers, like the sky brothers or the cupid spirit. Instead, they seemed to like to settle in one place for a while, offer their services and friendship, gain trust and companionship.

They did stay with them, and Aino hunted with Rentuva while Lhilhi aided Zeru in her domestic efforts; they stayed a cold autumn month and then moved on. Eventually, the seven were growing well known, recognized as they went, and the mortals soon called them all to the Capital City and presented them a temple.

A grand building, round and magnanimous, with polished floors and rising pillars and elegant tapestries regaling their honor and kindness and loyalty.

“Will you guide us?” the mortals asked, and Aino gave a soft bow.

“If that is what you wish,” Sahola answered, and his wings ruffled gently.

So they did; Aino and Lhilhi shared a room and bed, they kissed and walked the lands still. They smiled at the young ones, they taught them of the Land of the Spiirts. The others worked hard to bring peace and ease to the people; for generations, they toiled. When the mortals first offered them gold and blood in return for their kindness, Aino laughed behind her hand and Lhilhi kissed Abrian on his cheek.

“Keep it,” for the mortals had need of it whereas the deities had no need of it; their kindness was not reliant upon sacrifices, monetary or blood or otherwise. They helped because they wanted to, from the goodness of their heart, from the care they had for the people they’d met.

Still, the mortals brought them offerings and Draksis came up with the plan of pouring them back into the communities; gold was returned to the homeless, animals were brought to farmers in need, and extra blankets were distributed during cold times.

The years waned on, generations birthing and dying, but Aino and Lhilhi’s love did not; if anything, it grew stronger, and Aino could be seen on more than one occasion scooping her smaller lover into her arms to hysterical giggling and tender smiles.

Eventually, the tributes ended and the deities minded not; they continued their lives, continued to aid this realm, and Aino was soon accosted by children with curious inquiries; she answered them in kind, patient in her explanations, and it earned her a delicate kiss from her lover and Lhilhi in her lap for an entire day, listening to every word dropping from Aino’s mouth.

This was what set their doom in motion, for the mortals learned their language, learned their rules, learned of the others who walked in sleep in the Land of the Spirits; unknowingly, the mortals tried to rule that land in their excitement, learned to claim a spirit their own, summoned them for menial tasks and orders, against their will.

And the Land of the Spirits began to shut down, to close off from its children, and Lhilhi felt it first when the plants refused to grow. Sahola next, when the skies did not answer his calls; Harrion tried to satisfy their worries with love, with children and lovers, with families and friendships. Zeru held her mothers close, and Rentuva coaxed them with game.

Aino went to the Land of the Spirits; she sought out the bright vastness and found a crumbling gray, cold and breezy.

“I will not answer you,” it shrieked. “I will not answer anyone; I have been invaded by ill-will.”

She reported to her companions and held Lhilhi tight that night.

“What is going to happen?”

“We need to learn what happened,” Aino spoke, kissing just behind Lhilhi’s ear. “And we will; don’t worry, princess. I’ll take care of it.”

The small tributes they still received on occasion vanished seemingly overnight; Draksis’ powers held out the longest, keeping the children whole and aloof. When his powers ran out, he was devastated and Aino knew a doom was coming. So she took Lhilhi and visited the Land of the Spirits once more; the gray was gone, replaced by an eerily quiet black.

They tiptoed through the Land, glancing around for any sign of other spirits; what they did spot were asleep, not comfortably, but curled close as if in fear. Their breathing was nonexistent, as if waiting for someone to breathe life into them, and Lhilhi drew nearer, gripping Aino’s hand tighter.

“Are they…dead?”

Aino shook her head slowly, an idea forming. “They are…waiting…”

“They are waiting until someone allows them life,” the Land spoke, voice hoarse and wheezing. “We have been betrayed; this Land is dead. We are all dead; you are all the hope we have left.”

“How do we fix this?” Aino questioned, stepping away from Sahar the Sage. “How can we help?”

With its last spark of light, it placed a seed in Aino’s heart and one in Lhilhi’s, blessing them. “When your companions have fallen, for they all will in the coming years, and you two are reunited; only then, can you purge the Other Side of their greed. I grant thee what little purity I yet hold, and plead with you to make the sacrifice when it comes.”

“What sacrifice?” Lhilhi sobbed, terrified of this horrible fate. “What sacrifice?”

But the Land did not answer, and they were spat back out to the Other Side, tears still streaming down their face. Their homeland was taken from them, a piece of their soul ripped out; and why? Betrayal?

“What sacrifice did it mean?”

Aino held her love close, let her cling and cry. “Perhaps the loss of our fellows.”

They informed their partners, and shortly after the villagers came to chain Draksis; their weapons were powerful, their words were harsh, and somehow a horrid fight broke out. There was blood staining the now golden floors, a tapestry was torn down and set aflame, another flag ripped to pieces. The chaos ended when something tore the air in half, made time stop, made a flash like heat rush through the air and into their bodies, as if the sun flared and burned.

Aino turned from her defensive position besides Lhilhi to watch a sword be ripped from Sahola’s body, watch her dear friend collapse in a puddle of blood. His face was open in shock, in tragic sadness, and his face stayed frozen in such as he took his last breath, still trying to reach out to his brother.

Draksis shrieked his pain and the flare of heat was replaced with a chilling cold; their breath puffed into the air, and Aino felt anger take over. She did not love these fools who would toss their kind love away in such a manner.

She unsheathed her sword, uncaring now, and struck down several mortals; Harrion was doing the same, Rentuva moving closer to Draksis, to pull the chains from around his body, to press a hand to Draksis’ wound. Zeru, her normal motherly instincts abandoned, joined the fight and Lhilhi yelled out obscenities and curses as she flung white lightning bolts out into the crowd.

The following months were dark ones; the earth still died and swamped, the sky alternated between blistering days and stormy skies. The forest animals did not show, and shortly after Sahola’s funeral pyre Draksis disappeared from the Council City, from the temple. He retreated to Dreina, to the lands Sahola found so beautiful, and he built a home there; a tall spiraling tower to house his grief, built upon the bones and flesh of their betrayers. Rentuva admitted to feeling some vindication at that news, as if their deaths would somehow bring Sahola back.

“Sahola is gone,” Aino admitted, wondering if she should mention what the Land told her; that the others would need to die on the off chance they might be able to restore their home and this side. But she knew better; they needed to feel unified, in this time of grief and treachery. “And nothing will change that.”

They knew they had to do something, even if their hearts weren’t in it, so when news of Draksis’ power and toxin reached them they left.

“We will address Draksis,” Lhilhi promised the glaring men as the deities walked down the street; Rentuva huddled and glared back, but Aino kept her gaze straight forward. She had blinders on, refusing to acknowledge the traitors.

Dreina was worse than anywhere else; the grass was brittle ash and the people sat with boils in their skin, coughing their lungs out. The sky was dark and heavy, storming with thunder, and a dead wind whipped through the black foliage.

Lhilhi inched closer, clutching her staff and reaching out to grasp Aino’s hand. “What has happened here?”

Rentuva kept his eyes, stony gaze riveted on Draksis’ towering abode. “Draksis is killing the land; his grief is killing the land.”

“We don’t have our powers at this scale; the Land of the Spirits has gone quiet.”

Aino eyed Rentuva as the archer stayed quiet, continuing his steady gate down the winding path. “Rentuva? Harrion has a point.”

“I can only assume Draksis’ grief has amplified his powers.”

Lhilhi shuffled closer and Aino wrapped an arm around her; “or his hate.”

Zeru made a choked noise and the group fell silent; as they moved closer to Draksis’ tower, the earth grew darker and crumbled beneath their feet. There were bodies here, twisted beings and broken bones, graphic violence; the air was heavy, weighing down on the deities as they walked.

The tower door gave way easily, and Aino led her troop inside; it was sparsely decorated, cold and impersonal, and Aino had a feeling they’d find Draksis at the top. As they ascended the floors, the air grew heavier and darker; Aino was right. They would find Draksis at the top of his tower.

The torches flickered here, lowlight in the pressing darkness, and the deities shuffled as a group in the shadows, unsure and frightened. Aino clung back to Lhilhi, the young mage hiding behind her warrior’s bulk, and took a step into the wide rotunda room.

“Draksis!” she called out, hoping her voice didn’t stutter horribly. “Draksis!”

There was the rattling of bones, the hissing of breath, and a shadow rose from the corner; uncurling, Draksis straightened to his full height and his dark eyes glowed in low torch light. His wings rattled and a feather molted off his diseased appendages; it was bones shivering together as he shifted and his cheeks were sunken.

“My friends,” his voice whistled low, and he spread his long fingers out across the room. “What may I aid you with from my domain?”

“You’re killing the land,” Zeru spoke; her tone was calm and loving, as if reprimanding a child, ever motherly in her tutelage.

Draksis chuckled and Rentuva stepped away from the deities, into the shadows more; “Draksis, we do not want to fight you or take away your tower; stop poisoning the land.”

Draksis turned away, then back, then away again; there was a small window he gazed out of, out to the darkening ground below. “Sahola loved Dreina; but Dreina did not love him. They killed my brother in cold blood; they murdered him in front of us.” He turned back towards his once-friends. “They will murder us too; so why not murder them first? They took our land, let’s take theirs.”

There’s madness in his eyes, something wild and hurt; Rentuva took another step forward, as if to side with Draksis, but then Aino swung her sword and slammed it into the ground, denting the stone floor. Rentuva stopped in his advance, and Aino took the opportunity to speak.

“We will not bow down to their level; if they took our land, then this is all we have left. And we’ve worked too hard to preserve and care for it to destroy it in our grief.” She tipped her head to the side and Lhilhi stepped up next to her, eyeing Draksis warily. “We grieve with thee, Draksis; we knew your brother too and though our grief can’t compare to yours it still eats at us. But we have to move on; we have to find a way to help these people, not kill them.”

“We can’t help these people!” He hissed, roaring. “The Land of the Spirits is dead; this land should be too!”

“Don’t make us,” Lhilhi pleaded, her voice thick with tears. “Don’t make us fight you, brother; please…”

His wings—could they even be called that, featherless and boney as they were?—rattled as he readied his stance for battle; “You could join me; let yourself go. Be consumed by the darkness these people have created.”

“Would we not be as bad as them then?” Aino spoke, voice reverberating off the walls around them. “Would we, gods and goddesses, then not be as corrupt as they?”

“Can you even call us gods?” Rentuva argued, and Aino—in shock—stepped away from him, taking Lhilhi with her. “Gods keep their powers; gods rule with loyalty and justice. Gods aren’t betrayed, gods don’t lose their homeland, gods don’t…”

“Gods don’t die,” Draksis finished, and Rentuva nodded. “We are not gods or goddesses, Aino Aquilla; we are people with powers, unloved and abandoned.”

Aino gripped her sword, shifted into a battle stance, and she felt her companions do the same; Harrion pulling a dagger from his waistband, Zeru grasping her talismans, Lhilhi whipping her staff through the air. Rentuva, almost reluctantly, stepped to the side. Draksis gave a bow, as if to say so be it.

The battle was slow and painful, each person dancing around the other, not really wanting to hurt their dark friend; Lhilhi vaulted away to catch her breath and Zeru took the chance to toss an ice talisman and Harrion took advantage of the distraction to throw a chain around one of Draksis’ wings, pulling him down from his height.

Aino swung her sword, and Draksis blocked with a wing; his bone chipped, and Rentuva cried out, stepping forward to join the fray. He simultaneously fought both sides, loosing an arrow when Lhilhi drew too close and tossing an elbow against Draksis’ chin when he tried to grab Zeru.

Harrion tossed another chain about Draksis’ other wing, pulling the tall man down to his knees; Draksis cried out, and Aino folded her hand into a Hand of Benediction, lifting them up in front of her face as she closed her eyes and called upon the seed of light in her chest. She had tipped her sword toward the ground, taking a steady stance for what was to come.

“I hereby decree,” she spoke in their tongue, “Draksis, deity of dark and wind, bound by my words in spirit and these chains in the physical.”

Zeru folded a fist into the palm of her other hand, bowed her head, and mumbled her own decree; Harrion brought out another chain and swung it around Draksis’ reaching arm, bringing it down from summoning more darkness and pinning it low. Rentuva pounced, and Lhilhi swung her staff, catching him in his chest and tossing him aside with a yell.

Aino did her best to ignore the fights, continuing the ceremony to bind Draksis; she kept her gaze steady on him. “With these words, I label Draksis a threat to this realm and others; destructor, murderer, evil one.”

“Lies!” He shrieked, pulling ferociously and reaching out with his free hand, sending out a slew of dark and pointed feathers.

A few made their mark, catching Aino in the shoulder, and she swung with the momentum and a cry; Lhilhi called her name, hurrying from keeping Rentuva at bay to her lover’s side. She attempted healing magic, though her powers weak, anything to aid her lover. Rentuva went to Draksis, grasped his arm and tugged at the chains as if to free him; with the momentum of the projectiles and her sword embedded in the ground, Aino swung back around, using her sword as a focal point and replacing the Hand of Benediction, and continued the ceremony of binding.

“And with these words, this breath, I declare him bound to this location for ever and eternity; he shall not see freedom nor the sun until we five—Harrion the lover, Zeru the mother, Lhilhi the wonderful, Aino Aquilla the warrior, Rentuva the hunter—draw our last breaths.”

Harrion was able to get another chain about Draksis’ free arm, and Zeru, having finished her own decree, rushed forward to help him tie them down; Rentuva cried out—a broken hearted no—and still tried to loose the metal about Draksis’ limbs. Lhilhi called forth lightning, singeing Rentuva’s hands, and Draksis pulled harder at his binding.

“How dare you!”

“So it is done!” Aino spoke, her Hand of Benediction loosening. “Draksis is bound and dealt with; let it be recorded as such, for generations to come.”

The chains having been tied down glowed with her final words, sigils etching in the metal, and Rentuva went to his knees with Draksis; in total, his wings, his arms, and his legs were wrapped and bound, and Rentuva reached out with a burned hand to try and remove the chains once more. Tears filled his eyes, and he choked on the air in his throat.

“No,” he cried, and before his hands could touch the glowing metal Draksis delicately took his wrists in his hands and lowered them, gazing blankly down at the burnt skin.

“Don’t,” Draksis spoke, shoving Rentuva away; the chains clinked with his movements. “You’ll only hurt more.” It was true, for whatever flesh came in contact with the chains was blistered and burned.

Rentuva, with aching heart and heavy eyes, slunk away; he shoved pass the others, and only hesitated for a moment before exiting out the doorway, damaged hands cradled close as he went; they let him go without a word, and Aino released her sword to approach the downed Draksis.

Aino gazed down at her once-friend with watery eyes. “I am sorry.”

He tugged at the chains, snarling. “No you’re not,” he grinned, vicious and broken.

Lhilhi sniffled, trying to mask a sob, and clutched her staff closer; Aino still kept her steely gaze turned down on him. “I am.”

With that, she turned on her heel, gripped Lhilhi’s arm, and began the trek from Draksis’ tower. She would like to believe she didn’t flinch when Draksis let out a vicious, vengeful, defeated cry; but she did, as did Zeru and Harrion and Lhilhi. The cry was still heard outside of the tower, and Aino tightened the arm around Lhilhi when Rentuva reluctantly joined them again.

As they leave Dreina behind, Draksis’ cry followed them; a rippling through the air, his final power seeping out into the world around them, and they watched the land turn and roll. They let it; they ignored the people crying out for aid, stumbling close and reaching out, and Aino only felt a bit of guilt when they reached the edge of the lands, stepping out into green as the last bit of toxic black curdled the last life out of the land.

Aino heaved a breath, a tear tracking down her cheek, and Lhilhi tightened her grip on Aino’s hand.

“Promise me,” she begged, “promise me we won’t lose anyone else.”

Aino squeezed back.

They announced to the Council City what had happened, that Draksis was defeated but not without a cost, and the civilians grumbled but dispersed with hardly a word; the council retreated to their once glorious temple to wait the night.

Lhilhi braided Aino’s hair the night before they came, storming the temple with viper words; she kissed Aino’s tears away and Aino did the same. They held each other close, mourning and lost; Aino awoke still holding Lhilhi close, and the day was slow and muggy. She felt something change in the air during that day, while Lhilhi paced in uncertainty and Rentuva counted his arrows, hands wrapped in gauze. Zeru left to offer aid and returned with rotten fruit in her hair and a bloody nose; Harrion treated her wounds and held her close.

It hit Aino then, as she watched Harrion stare out past the stain glass windows with dull eyes and joyless cheeks, Zeru cradled in his arms, that they were destroyed; Harrion had not brought together families in decades, Zeru chased from houses with brooms, Rentuva had no game to hunt, and Lhilhi’s eyes were too wet for Aino’s liking. They were destroyed; even if, at some point, the mortals loved them again they were not whole.

When they came storming, the fight had gone out of them; Harrion was the first to go, Aino and Zeru screaming for him to run. But he turned deadened eyes upon them and, with the mortals speaking the binding ceremony, disappeared in a swirling pop; and then Aino understood, as the mortal tongues wrapped unfamiliarly around their language.

They bound the Land of the Spirits to them, they forced the others into an endless sleep like death, to come at their beck and call; it was fearful, to witness Yethi the elemental troll be summoned, watch her be forced to rip their temple apart, watch her reach out and grip Zeru in one mighty hand. With a squeeze, Zeru screamed and the Recorder of this generation—a middle aged woman, Ithia—botched the gesture and stumbled over her words.

Lip quivering, Zeru seemed to be saying goodbye with her watery eyes; Lhilhi was horrified to notice she still had a smudge of rotten zucchini on her cheek. Zeru closed her eyes, ever slowly, and took one more giant breath before Ithia completed the ceremony and the goddess of domesticity disappeared with a high pitched shriek.

Aino swung her sword when some mortals drew close; they had to touch her to bind her, so she kept them at bay. She knew she was cutting some down, she knew they were shedding even more blood upon this apparently hallowed ground; but she couldn’t let that stop her. If they could, they would bind her too. They would, in all intents and purposes, kill her—a Spirit’s purpose solely to be free, to flit in gentleness and care.

Rentuva was bound with nary a notice; one moment he was holding his ground and the next, as if he had merrily decided to give up, he was gone. Whether he bound himself or someone else did so, Aino would never know.

And then it was just them two: Aino Aquilla the warrior goddess and Lhilhi the Kind Mage, lovers promised to each other for eternity. Aino would not let them take her, so she renewed her fight; if they could get out of this place, if they could run and hide, perhaps to another kingdom or another realm… If they could escape, they could be free; just her and Lhilhi, the wonderful Lhilhi, the bright and gorgeous and ever breathtaking Lhilhi.

In a moment of despair and adoration and some would argue hate, Aino promised _They will not take her_. She wondered if this was what Draksis felt, in his dark tower and his grief; did he feel this burning pain? Did he feel this empty hollowness, the grasping at the only thing he had left? For Draksis, that was revenge; he had lost his brother, and Rentuva’s adoration was largely unnoticed or ignored.

For Aino, it was what it had always been: Lhilhi, Lhilhi, Lhilhi…

It was only too late when she realized how far apart they had been forced; Lhilhi, too far on the other side of the room, was holding her own well while Aino fought off Ithia and her group. But the panic she felt, seeing Lhilhi so far away, too far, was enough of a distraction; especially when Lhilhi too spotted Aino’s wide eyed gaze, realizing their distance, and was distracted as well.

The mortals took the opportunity, latching onto the goddesses and subduing them; Ithia spoke the ceremony, as well as a few others, and Aino screamed and writhed. Lhilhi twisted and dug her petite feet into the floor, doing her best to drag herself and the entourage across the room. Aino did the same, her bulk aiding her; she threw a few mortals off her, and one cracked his head upon a pillar.

With a yell, as Ithia drew closer and closer to the end of the ceremony, Aino got one hand free and Lhilhi did the same; with piles of mortals trying to keep them down, Aino reached with outstretch fingers for her lover. They were still so far, the distance only grower shorter at a slow pace; it did not look like they would make it.

“So it is done,” Ithia spoke. “Aino Aquilla and Lhilhi the Kind Mage are bound and d-dealt with; let it be recorded as such, for generations to come.”

As the brilliant light came to claim them, Aino gave one last cry, filled with distress, and lurched forward. Her fingertips touched Lhilhi’s, and Lhilhi’s touched hers.

As the light disappeared, so did the goddesses, and the mortals were left to claim the temple as their own; in the Land of the Spirits, Aino and Lhilhi lay curled together, hands gripping tight to each other, Lhilhi’s head towards Aino’s feet and Aino’s towards Lhilhi’s. They slept a dreamless sleep in this barren land, only warmed by each other’s presence.

When they were summoned, they were summoned together; Aino pulled Lhilhi from the Land of the Spirits, and Lhilhi pulled Aino. They devoted loyalty to those deserving, but most deserving were each other.

The day they tore Lhilhi from Aino’s arms was the day she wept in her sleep; they summoned Lhilhi, and somehow blocked Aino, as if Lhilhi was summoned and Aino was being bound. They gripped to each other, in their sleep, tightening the hold on their hands and Aino could swear, as Lhilhi was pulled from the Land of the Spirits, that she heard her lover scream.

She did not meet Lhilhi again after that; she did not sense her in the Other Side nor in the Land of the Spirits. She could only assume she was dead, and that the seed of light died with her; any hopes of purging the lands was lost, but beyond that Aino’s heart was broken.

She slumbered alone, hand still open and inviting for her lover’s return…

[O]

The day Draksis destroys Thrifel oddly enough brings a grin to Aino’s face; a sort of _I told you so_ , but then she sees Elia’s horrified gaze as the skies change into a dark black, as the world around them begins to fade, and she realizes this is not the time to take pleasure in destruction. There is still something to hold onto, in this young summoner before her, in this girl with loving eyes and a warm heart.

“We will stop him,” Aino promises, reaching out to gently cup the back of Elia’s neck. “We can stop him.”

They track him down, to the Council City, where he regals in the carnage; mortals scream as their bodies are devoured with darkness, an illness weakening their limbs, wind tearing their skin. This land destroyed violently.

“Draksis!” Aino calls; her sword is gripped tight in her hand, Sahar standing tall at their back with Fabian swaying at his side. Elia stays hidden, safe, within their little circle. “Draksis! We are here to stop your advance!”

His arms, so thin, his wrists still sporting the burns on his skin from the chains that once held him, spread out in welcoming. “Do you like it, Aino Aquilla?”

“Father!” Elia cries, trying to push pass her warrior. “Father, please!”

Draksis laughs, a wet and sickly sounding thing. “I am not your father, dear mage.”

“Draksis,” Aino warns; now is not the time. For truth; now is the time to save the mortal realm, to chain Draksis once more. She doesn’t want to lose another friend; she can’t lose another. She has sacrificed much already.

“I raised you, from the earth and the bones, but I am not your father.”

Elia clutches close to Aino, unsure. “Father, please stop this!”

Draksis’ wings rattle as he takes each step in measure, descending the front of the once Council Temple; the doors are barred, as if the council hides from his vengeance. “I am not your father, dear…Lhilhi, Kind Mage…”

Elia makes a face, eyes wide, mouth slack. “Lhi…lhi…”

“Now is not the time,” Aino cries. “You had no right….”

“They wanted to kill you, Elia; they ripped you from Aino, from your lover, from your protector, and they kept you bound to a summoning circle.” Draksis sweeps down the street, kicking away a hand that reaches out for him. “And they were going to kill you, as they did everyone else; as they pierced my gentle brother’s heart, as they slit Zeru’s throat, as they cut into Harrion’s chest, as they forced me to feel Rentuva cry out in agony as they burned him alive!”

“Enough!” Aino calls, raising her sword in defense and reaching back to grasp Elia’s arm, to hold her close.

“They were going to take your life, Lhilhi; and I saved you. As your soul left to join the energies in the air, I called you to me.” Draksis remembers the panic he felt, when he knew Lhilhi was all that was left to save these worlds. “I put your soul into this body, made of dead bones and clay, and you made it your own, Elia; you grew your own organs, your own heart, and when you breathed for the first time…”

“Draksis, enough!”

Elia collapses to the ground, her feet unsteady and legs unsure, and Sahar kneels besides her; but she is too weak, too shocked, to keep the summons up and he and Fabian vanish to the Land of the Spirits.

“I saved her! With my chains weakening with every death, I grew stronger; I poisoned the air around my tower, I stretched out beyond to the other lands. And it was glorious, to watch these mortal bugs suffocate!” The sky roars, and Elia yelps. “With each death of the Council, with Harrion and Zeru and my dear Rentuva, the chains and binds loosened; and when they took Lhilhi from you, my dear sister Aino Aquilla, they killed you; in every meaning of the word.”

Aino fights tears; she’d known, for quite some time, that Lhilhi was in front of her this whole time. She knew Elia was carrying Lhilhi’s soul. “Her body,” Aino cries out, pointing a finger to the shocked Elia, “may not be hers, Draksis! But I would recognize her soul if we were separated by time and space! And I do recognize her soul, Draksis; I recognize my Lhilhi, despite this horrid body of clay and dead bones you’ve formed for her.”

“I did it for her,” Draksis cries, his wing bones spreading and clacking, and his thin hands twitch; he is diseased, malnourished, and Aino aches for her friend. “I did it for you!”

Aino wants to believe him; she loved him once, as one loves their family, and once they did not lie to each other. “Explain yourself.”

“They were going to kill her; they were hunting the Once Council, to ensure their mortal rule!” He swipes a hand through the air, sunken and pale cheeks flaring as he paces. “I saved her! I ensnared her soul before they could kill her; and you… They tried so hard to summon you, but your grief and anger guarded you; I had to feel Zeru take her last breath, I died with Harrion as I did with my brother, I still hear Rentuva’s cries echoing in my head!” He turns his wide and crazed eyes to Aino. “I would not lose you two; you were all I had left.”

Aino doesn’t move; she wants to believe in him, as she did once before, but he destroyed the north, he murdered thousands, and now he stands before her claiming grief and Elia as a present. “You tortured her; you abused us, in that tower.”

Draksis regards her, glancing to the silently crying Elia; “I don’t deny that.”

“You need to be stopped, Draksis.”

He looks at her, palms up in supplication; “You know what that means; are you willing to do it? To sacrifice yourself and her? The warrior goddess and her warrior mage; to hold hands and call forth the light you both represent, to purge and cleanse this world.”

“To revive us,” she corrects; it will be painful, but she has known it has been coming for a while now. “Will you let me?”

He collapses to one knee, to his other, and smiles at her; “exact revenge, my powerful sister; but do not forget us, please. I want to walk with my brother again, I want to see Zeru smile and feel Rentuva’s arms around me and witness Harrion pick flowers.”

Aino approaches calmly, her sword held steadily in her hands, and she presses it against Draksis’ chest; mirroring where Sahola was pierced, she regards him. “Is this what you wanted when you created Elia and had her summon me?”

Draksis moves, a shrug perhaps, uncoordinated and exhausted. “If I could not create a new world I would at least destroy this one; and I knew some day you would reunite with your love. And I knew some day you would save us all.”

Aino kills him quickly; if she hesitates it will hurt him and if she hesitates she may not go through with it. So she tenses and thrusts her weapon through his chest cavity, watches his mouth drop open in shock and showcase rotting teeth. His eyes are full of pain but resignation and…joy… He looks happy, pleased; his body disappears in a puff of ash. She leaves him, lets her sword clank to the ground, turning on her heel and pacing back to Elia.

The poor girl has a hand clamped over her mouth, tears streaking down her cheeks, and her body shakes as she stares at where Draksis’ body should be; Aino should do the burial ceremony for him but she doesn’t have the strength. She wants this done quickly.

She reaches out, mighty hands gripping Elia’s arms and raising her up from the ground. “Elia.”

“I’m not Lhilhi,” she says, shaking her head, and her wide eyes take in Aino’s calm gaze. “I can’t be her.”

“You are not, in entirety, Lhilhi; you are still Elia, though you carry my Lhilhi’s soul in you.”

“I’m not Lhilhi!”

Aino regards her, tipping her head to the side to look Elia up and down. “Because your body is fabricated? Because you hold no memories of our times spent together?”

Elia sobs, gripping tight to Aino’s wrist, and she can’t speak.

Aino tucks a loose strand of hair behind Elia’s ear, smiling kindly. “You are Elia of Dreina, and as life goes you are as real as me. Your body is warm, and there is a heart inside you that beats.”

Elia shakes her head and moves as if to pull out of Aino’s hold, but the warrior goddess holds her still. “I am Elia of Dreina, but I hold your lover’s soul in me; doesn’t that pain you?”

Again Aino smiles. “It did, for a time; but then… Then I realized, I had the opportunity to fall in love with her—with you—all over again. And I loved that; you may not have her smile, her laugh, her eyes… But you are her, in every way that counts; and I fell in love with you. I fell in love with the way your warmth seeps into me when we lay together at night, I fell in love with the way you say my name, I fell in love with your voice and your hair and your heart… You are Elia and you are Lhilhi, with or without her memories.”

Elia let herself be drawn into Aino’s embrace, clutching to the warrior’s armor; she is Elia. She is Lhilhi. She is Elhia. “Aino? What now?”

Not yet; just let her hold her lover for a moment longer. It’s as if she has her, all of Elhia, for the first time. “Are you willing to purge the lands? You’ve read the Records, Elhia.”

The mage buries her face against Aino’s chest, tucking her head beneath her chin; “What’s going to happen?”

She can’t make promises; not this time. “I cannot promise you we’ll make it; I know the Land of the Spirits would not give us this gift, this light in our souls, for no other reason than to kill us. It promised us a future, if we did this.”

Elhia pulls away, takes Aino’s hands in hers, and nods three times; “We can save this land; we can save the Land of the Spirits. We cannot let everyone’s sacrifice be in vain!”

Aino loves her; loves her for eternity. “I’m going to kiss you,” she warns, confident in this newly renewed feeling—love, acceptance.

And Elhia laughs, quietly and happily. “Please do.”

Aino does; she keeps her hands on Elhia’s shoulders, bends down, and Elhia stands on tiptoe. They meet halfway, basking in this moment, and their lips collide in familiarity, in love; Aino tips her head, moving her lips gently against Elhia’s, deepening the kiss, and Elhia lets her, follows her, moves with her with ease.

They separate shortly after; Aino smiles as she tips her head against Elhia’s, and Elhia keeps her eyes shut. They both smile easily, and between them a light glows; brighter than anything seen before, whiter, purer. It spreads out across the land, steady and purifying, and chases the darkness away for a vacant paradise of white.

It purges this land, it rebirths the mortals, cleanses the knowledge of the Land of the Spirits, breaks the bindings, renews purity and life… Elhia’s summons—Sahar, Fabian, Javvy—are returned to their homeland, warm and happy.

When Aino opens her eyes, she’s fearful; she doesn’t know what’s happened, and she’s scared to look. She’s scared to know what’s happened.

A small hand brushes delicately against her cheek, and Aino peels her eyes open; ever gently, ever slowly, and Elhia’s eyes gaze back at her. They’re warm, they’re wide, they’re happy.

They stand upon the steps of the Council, cradled in each other’s arms, and Aino smiles; there’s a heaviness that has been there for years, in her limbs, that is gone now. There’s a buzz in her body, a gentle thrum of power. There is her lover in her arms, and at her back the five.

Harrion, joyous and pink cheeked; Zeru, tender and little; Rentuva, lean and smiling; Sahola stands there, one hand reaching out to draw his brother close, and Draksis goes. Draksis’ wings are feathered and soft, his limbs defined, not atrophied; he smiles as Sahola draws him close, and Aino runs her hand gently over Elhia’s shoulders, down her bare arm.

“My princess,” Aino speaks, quiet and soft. “Shall we take back what was given to us?”

“And what was taken,” Elhia adds.

They march up the steps, the barge through the doors; the Land of the Spirits has been restored, the spirits released from their bound slumber, the mortals’ knowledge of the foreign tongue taken from their minds… Hand in hand, Elhia and Aino head for the center chamber.

With a promising squeeze, a display of support, Aino kicks down the door; she lifts her leg, thrusts it out, and lets her strength—her renewed strength—knock down the barrier.

“Aquilla!” high lord Herthine cries in shock, raising from his chair as the doors are thrown wide open; the other Council members too react in varying degrees of shock and alarm, fear echoing briefly across their faces as the warrior goddess takes measured steps into the room. They’ve clearly been trying to piece together what has happened, how the timeline has split into a new realm and time without their power over the spirits. “You are not allowed in here; leave!” Grasping at what little power he may have left, at the old rules of summons not being permitted in the council room.

Aino summons her sword, giant and mighty, with a flick of her arm; behind her, Elihia cradles her staff in the crook of her arm with a cocked grin on her face and Rentuva appears in a puff of smoke, grinning too, with Harrion prancing into place. Zeru forms with the whisper of winds as Sahola spreads his bright golden wings and Draksis mirrors his older brother, feathers rustling as they stand tall—taller than even Aino. Aino points her sword towards Herthine, also grinning wildly; they are free, and they will rebuild for the best of the mortals—as they did eons ago.

“Get off my throne, Herthine.”

They are gods, and they will be treated as they once were.

[O]

There is a future, where the truth is told and the mortals pay tribute in apology, though the deities claim to not want it.

“All we want,” Sahola speaks, the gentlest smile on his face as he watches his brother play with children in the cobbled street. “Is your respect and loyalty.”

They give it; there is a future where Elhia kisses Aino’s brow to wake her from her nap. They lay in a field together, promising and promising to keep those promises and promising to keep those too. Aino smiles up at her, toned stomach shaking with repressed giggles.

“Sit up,” Elhia says, quietly, so as to not scare the glow flies that have cropped up as the sun went down.

Aino complies, a hand reaching back to brush against the braid Elhia had completed. “It’s perfect,” Aino says, turning to face her lover.

Elhia tips forward, and they kiss as the sun sets, the fireflies their only witnesses.


End file.
